Smoke (like a chimney)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you'd stayed?"


**Disclaimer** **:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1** **:** People wanted Milton/Jesus/Andrea and I have no self control, so here we are. Based on the idea that Milton and Andrea survive Woodsbury and are out on their own trying to survive. Partially inspired by the obscene way Dallas Roberts smokes – which is bad for you, but again, I have no self control.

 **Warnings:** references to a past college threesome, drama, angst, romance, smoking.

 **Smoke (like a chimney)**

He was about to sling his pack over his shoulder and join Andrea outside when he caught the flash of familiar packaging shoved underneath the convenience store's register. Gathering dust with the receipts and tangled cords that led up towards the debt machine.

Surprise mellowed into a careful sort of pleasure when he hefted the pack of cigarettes and realized it was unopened. It must have been stuffed there by an employee before everything had fallen apart. Missed by the looters who'd emptied the locked cabinets sometime between then and now. Leaving people like them to pick through the scraps of half-trampled beef-jerky and the occasional bottle of water or can of soda that'd rolled underneath the shelves.

This was the third place they'd been to in the small highway town, and all of them were as cleared out as this one. To say the pickings were slim was an understatement. All he'd found was sour candy and this.

His lips firmed into a sober line as he snatched the blank roll of receipt paper from the register. Ignoring the bloody prints dry-etched across the lottery ticket counter. The power ball screen wreathed in cobwebs and the dangling husks of dead insects. He rubbed his thumb over the paper-cut edges before he shoved it in his pack. He was running out of note paper.

They were running low on food. Low enough to start thinking about chancing the Walmart on the edge of the next town. Something they'd decided to never do again after the last time. Back when there'd been four of them. Two other survivors from Woodsbury they'd met up with in the woods after escaping from the Governor. He'd known them from the beginning and the loss had hit him hard. Harder when he realized that Andrea had no intention of going back to deal with their bodies – or at least what was left of them.

"Milton? Time to go," Andrea called from outside. Voice calm, but with enough stress that it made him that do more than just flinch at the sudden sound. Hefting his pack and stuffing the cigarettes into his jacket pocket as he grabbed his machete and streaked to the exit.

Maybe they'd get lucky somewhere else.

The statistics weren't in their favor, but he didn't say anything when Andrea suggested checking a line of store-top apartments the next street over. Waiting until the small group of walkers had shuffled past as they hid behind an dumpster at the end of the street.

Maybe was a word he was becoming intimately acquainted with these days.

* * *

It was dark by the time he rediscovered the cigarettes in his pocket. Feeling the edge of the package dig into his thigh when he did up the buttons of the trench coat Andrea had found in a burned out military Humvee the first few weeks after Woodbury. Popping the collar up for warmth as he patted in his pockets for matches and pulled himself up with a groan. Feet aching. Toes burning as the popped blisters and open sores made themselves known.

His boots had worn through.

Again.

He cracked the window overlooking the trash-strewn street as he broke the plastic seal and shook out a stick. Lighting it with curled fingers as the nicotine flared. Every action steeped in muscle memory and poison-laced anticipation.

He inhaled, eyes fluttering closed in spite himself. Holding the smoke in the delicate of his lungs before exhaling out the window in a slow, luxurious plume. Feeling it spread through his veins as gradually- so gradually- the last of his sore muscles finally started to relax.

 _He'd_ _missed_ _this_.

It made him think about the diesel fumes roiling behind a city bus. Carcinogenetic and spreading like an impermanent heat wave. Watching the smoke thin into the air as the familiar buzz of pleasure made him soft around the edges. Reminding him of things he hadn't thought of in a while. Normal things.

Like how he'd always liked the smell of gasoline.

Something about the allure of the benzene and hydrocarbons, he supposed. A concentrated inhale worked similarly to an anesthetic. Giving you a temporary burst of euphoria. And like all things chemical, it was associated with the development of various blood cancers. Buzzwords that health professionals staked careers in. Some people tried to explain it away by claiming it was simply nostalgic. An association to a good memory from childhood.

Personally, he just liked the smell.

That and he'd always had a healthy respect for altered carbons.

"Those will kill you, you know." Andrea murmured as she exited the washroom. Blonde hair dull in the dark as she guarded the flame with her hand. The low glow of the tea-light was the only way they could navigate around the dusty apartment they'd claimed for the night. They had to save the rest, supplies were just too low. "There are a couple wet wipes left if you want to have a shower."

He nodded, setting his glasses on the sill as he leaned into the blue-painted trim. Soaking in the feeling of doing something he used to before all this. Imagining he could almost feel the sway of the subway moving under his feet and the stale raw of old coffee on the air.

"Never pegged you for a smoker," she remarked after a pause. Coming to stand beside him at the window. Brushing shoulders companionably as an animal rustled in the dumpster on the other side of the street.

"My personality has addictive facets," he answered simply. Stating the weakness blandly and matter of fact before passing the cigarette to her when she crooked her finger. "It was the lesser of most of the other evils."

She took a long drag. Confident enough to tell him she wasn't a stranger to concept either. Coughing only slightly when she exhaled. Clearly it'd been a while.

"What's your excuse?" he asked, reminding himself to inject some lightness so the question came out almost playful. The social conventions of tone and intent still didn't come naturally, regardless of their time together.

Admittedly, the isolation had brought them closer. Closer than he could remember being with anyone. And while he'd come to value it, perhaps need it as much as he did water and food, there was still a learning curve. He'd always been better with numbers and chemical equations than people. And he doubted that would ever really change.

"Wild college days," she returned with a grin. "The first year at UGA was pure freedom. I might have overdone it a bit."

His eyes flicked up, mildly surprised.

"So did I," he admitted, hesitating before clarifying. "Going to UGA, I mean."

"Really?"

He nodded, wincing at the grate when his fingers grazed across week-old stubble. Seriously considering chancing the use of a sharp knife to shave unless they found razors in the next few days.

"I did two years there before I changed my major and transferred to the west coast."

"Huh, small world," she commented thoughtfully. Handing him the cigarette back as he took welcoming drag. Finding something intriguing in the echo of mint toothpaste from her lips before she huffed a laugh and looked over at him. "Did you ever go to any parties in that brick dorm? The Archer building, I think?"

He blinked. Realizing with mild surprise that he actually had. Vaguely recalling a couple of nights where his roommates had pulled out a couple six packs and dragged him out of their dorm by force. Claiming it was time he got the 'real' college experience.

To this day, he still wasn't sure what that meant, so he figured the impromptu lessons hadn't exactly been successful.

He nodded. Grateful when she didn't ask anything more. Fielding a rush of second-hand embarrassment as he remembered waking up in a strange room. Sprawled across the floor on top of two single mattresses thrown together with a kicked-off duvet and only one pillow. He remembered the room spinning slightly as he'd patted around for his glasses. Extricating himself slowly - desperate not to wake them - as he realized with mute astonishment that his dreams had been anything but. Sneaking glances at the tangle of over-warm skin and sleep-flushed faces as he tried to find his clothes. The carpet a minefield of empty liquor bottles, plastic cups and flung off clothes.

"God, they got wild. But they always had the best parties. I'm not sure how they never got shut down by the campus police. Someone must have been pulling strings. There were a lot of trust fund kids in that building, that's for sure," she mused, smiling.

He didn't say anything, recalling off-hand how the guy's hair had been long. Flaring against the muscles of his shoulders in stark contrast to the girl's wavy blond. The competing smells of two different shampoos had been almost dizzying. Or maybe that'd been the effect of the alcohol. It was hard to tell.

She snorted a sudden laugh.

"Oh man, I remember this one time...I think someone spiked the punch because I honestly didn't have much to drink before hand, but-"

His lip quirked up as he remembered the sound of sleepy protests issuing from the makeshift bed when he'd cracked open the door to the main hall. Wondering if he dared to go back in and wait until they woke up - to get their names at the very least - before nervousness got the better of him.

"There was this guy- he was standing beside the window with a bottle of beer. He looked so out of place you knew he'd gotten dragged here and was just counting the hours before he could leave... but there was just something about him that made me keep looking, you know?"

He'd told himself the entire walk back to his dorm that while that night had meant something to him, it was probably a sentiment neither of them shared. Maybe they'd even think it was a mistake. Something to forget and pretend never happened. So he tried to do the same.

"Thing was, I wasn't the only one watching. There was this other guy, super good looking, that was watching him too. And he caught me looking. I'm not sure why, but we nodded, then just moved together like it'd been the plan all along. We came up to the guy and just started talking. It wasn't a competition, it was an agreement. And It felt natural- like it was supposed to be. Like there was nothing weird about it. The two of us, him."

Only he'd never forgotten. He'd committed every fractured, half-remembered action to memory. How the girl had looked with her head flung back when he'd dragged his teeth between the valley of her breasts. Buoyed by an inebriated confidence that'd stripped him of self-doubt and neurosis in a way that promised to be addictive. Cock slick as it nudged insistently against her inner thigh before she grabbed it and guided him into her. Shuddering with it when the man behind him bit off a curse. Opening him up with slow, drunk fingers. Slick with lube as everything turned overstimulated and too much in the best possible way. Watching stars die across the inside of his eyelids when she clenched around his cock every other stroke. He remembered the moment when the man had finally pushed inside. Sparking pleasure all the way up his spine as the careful violence left him breathless. But not enough to miss the gentling hand that drifted over his hip like an endearment before the man started moving. Leaving him in charge of fielding both their wants and rhythms until it became something that was uniquely _them_.

He'd felt needed.

Like he'd been part of something.

Something necessary to the greater whole.

It'd made him feel… _full_.

No- not even that.

 _Cherished._

If there was a word to describe what the night meant to him, he figured that was a close as he'd ever get. And in a lot of ways, he'd been trying to replicate that feeling ever since.

"Before I knew it we were stumbling into this room, and the guy, the second one- the one with the long brown hair, pressed him up against the wall and just kissed him. Hands in his hair, knocking off his glasses, hips grinding to the music- the works. Full on the hottest thing I'd seen in my entire life. It's still in my top five to be honest. Ugh- what was that guys name? I can never remember the first one, he was gone before we woke up. But the other guy, we talked a bit before going our separate ways and-"

His cigarette went lax in his fingers. Lips tingling as the phantom brush of stubble rasped pleasantly against his. He remembered. Of course he did. It'd been the first time. The first kiss. Quickly followed by hers. A beautiful contrast of hard and soft as the lush of her breasts strained against her red top, skirt hiked high as his cock jerked obviously in his jeans. Making them press smiles into either side of his neck as the entire thing had made him want to-

"Paul," he whispered wonderingly. Free handing drift across his lips like he wanted to replicate the feeling.

The rest permeated embarrassingly slowly.

"Whoa, wait- Milton...are you-"

He took another drag to save himself from having to answer. Trying to smooth out the rough edges of barely remembered inflections and snatches of words colored by the beat of music pounding from the other room. She'd told him her name. But the truth was it had been so common, and there'd been so many years between then and now he'd never considered the two might be the same. Not until-

"Holy shit, that was you?!"

He nodded, cheeks coloring as she pressed into his space and encouraged him to turn towards her. Looking at him with those eyes of hers. Blue and open and everything he remembered from that moment years ago when she'd smiled at him with her eyelashes and pulled her shirt over her head.

"Wow, smaller world than I thought," she remarked with a low whistle. Nudging his shoulder with a low, indulgent sound as he passed her the cigarette without comment. Concentrating in just breathing until the single-paned glass started to fog up in front of them - hazy with condensation.

The odds were just short of astronomical if you took in population percentages alone. Meeting again when a vast portion of the world's population had been wiped out and displaced was even more so. If he had the energy, he might have even been able to make a vague estimate. But as it was, he was tired in more ways than just physical. He had been for a long time. There was only some much the human brain could process before it started to curl in and protect itself.

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, watching the bright point in the sky he'd long pegged as a satellite. Tracking its progress in the night sky. It was a self-soothing habit he'd told himself he wouldn't break if he could help it. Making him think about the Space Station and the people that were probably still up there, looking down on all this. Calling a control tower that'd gone dark a long time ago.

"Did- do you regret it?"

The answer was as instinctive as the next breath he sucked in. Flicking the ash from the dwindling butt when she handed it back to him before taking another short drag. Feeling the heat of it threatening to sear his knuckles as it got closer and closer to the filter.

"No, not once," he replied softly.

"Me neither," she echoed, lips curling in an genuine smile that was rare these days - even from her. Watching him out of the corner of her eye like she was about to share a secret before she let go of it. "In fact, I learned some stuff about myself after that."

The urge to tell the truth was so tempting he didn't bother to hold back. Finding the solidarity of her next to him almost embarrassingly intoxicating. Unable to help but wonder what it would be like to have her again- _now_ \- even if-

"I didn't have a measure in place for comparison at the time," he admitted, smiling small as her eyes went wide. Realizing belatedly that other people might find that embarrassing to admit. But he wasn't like most people.

"Milton!"

Then-

"Hell of a way to lose your v-card."

He nodded. Because all things considered, it had been.

"I remember I woke up and you were gone. He wanted to know your name. But I couldn't remember. Every time you told me, the music drowned you out," she mused, pausing for a moment before sending him another wicked look. "And if I recall, he was more interested in you than anything else. Including me."

He flushed, his cheeks suddenly the warmest part of him as she snorted good naturedly.

"I didn't know how to deal with it," he answered, knowing she expected one but would never outright ask. "And since I was leaving in a few weeks I thought it would easier that way. No regrets. No embarrassment. No disappointment. It seemed like the best option, considering the circumstances."

"Well, congratulations. We were both kind of obsessed with you for awhile after that," she remarked. Laughing, but serious enough that when she tipped her head up he knew she meant it. "We even met up a few times just to talk about it. Running into each other in the hall type of thing. I think I even had his number before-"

He didn't know what to say to that.

He wasn't used to that kind of affirmation outside of professional accolades.

"He told me it was the first time he'd ever done anything like that," she added as she shook her head when he offered her the last drag. Turning slowly on her heel as she started toward the bedroom. "So, I guess it was a first for all of us, in a way. I got the feeling connecting with people wasn't something he was comfortable with. _Really_ connecting, I mean. I don't think he was the kind of person that trusted easily. But I think you- _us_ \- made him want to try."

He ducked his head, murmuring out a misnomer as he flicked the butt out of the window and eased it closed. Following her back to the bed they'd already stripped when they'd decided to stay the night. Slipping on the clean sheets Andrea had found in the hall closet, before piling it high with every blanket and comforter they could find.

That was one thing he'd been surprised about.

How cold it could get without central heating.

Or any sort of heating, really.

It was obvious, yet somehow still surprising.

He eased himself onto the opposite side of the bed with a tired sound. Shucking off his boots and nothing else as the scent of dust and fading dryer sheets made his nose twitch. He'd learned the hard way that you didn't take much else off. No matter how filthy you were. Remembering the time they thought they'd been safe enough to change clothes for the night. He'd ended up having to run out in just sweat-pants, a shirt and his pack when walkers started breaking through the glass of the rancher they'd been staying in for the night.

He'd never made that mistake again.

Just like he'd stopped looking at the framed pictures set on people's bedside tables and walls. Stopped trying to find some way to give thanks for the temporary shelter or the supplies they were able to salvage from cupboards and drawers that were not their own.

The learning curve outside the safety of Woodbury's walls had been steep.

But he was still here.

 _Still alive._

Thanks to her.

Andrea took him off guard by turning so she was facing him instead of curling away like she normally did when he was settled. Neither of them really acknowledging the fact that they always managed to find each other during the night with impulses were just that and barriers that more or less vanished with the dark.

He felt the intake of breath before she spoke. Her hesitation disturbing the air currents as a woman's wedding set - both engagement and band - glinted from the small silver tray on the bedside table.

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you'd stayed?"

* * *

It was only when her breathing deepened that he realized she'd fallen asleep waiting for him to answer. Leaving him alone in his own thoughts for the first time in a long time as he stared blurrily at the ceiling.

But maybe it was just as well.

Because he didn't have an answer.

Still, it didn't stop him from wondering, off hand and slightly wistful, what'd happened to Paul Rovia when humanity had been posthumously added to the endangered species list.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! - This story is now complete

 **Reference : **

UGA: University of Georgia


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